


Helpless Moments

by callunavulgari



Category: Legend of Zelda, Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Cyberpunk, F/F, Genderswap, M/M, Pirates, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a terrible idea, of course. One day Ghirahim will greet death under the Master Sword. It's inevitable, because for Link, failure is not an option. (10 AUs in the lives of Link and Ghirahim.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helpless Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Written for zenelly at my AU meme.

**01\. Domestic/Slice-of-Life**  
Skyloft is quiet when night falls—almost _too_ quiet—the howling of the wind whipping around the Academy eerie in its darkened halls. When Link was young, he and Zelda had liked sneaking snacks from the kitchen—making it a grand adventure to steal through the hallways on light, slippered feet. Now though, Zelda is below—she is hundreds of years in the past, and the only thing that the quiet dark reminds him of is Skyloft's Silent Realm—with it's creeping spectres and the violent guardians. He doesn't often choose to rest within the Academy anymore, preferring the quiet shelter of the Faron Woods trees or the whispering ghost of the Desert. But when he does find himself spending the night in his old bed, breathing in the scent of the person he was before the monsters, he can hear the spectre's bells chiming in the dark.  
  
He's been traveling too long. Home is no longer safe, just a cage to hold him.

The moon is hidden beyond dark clouds tonight, light flashing against his walls and the boom of thunder rattling the building. Storms have always been bad in Skyloft—too close to the ferocity—and now is no different. Originally, he'd only returned to purchase a larger quiver, but when the storm had rolled through, the Headmaster had insisted. So now he's here, restless in his bed as the quiet haunts his thoughts.

  
"Your bed is too small," a voice says, the sound muffled in the thin cloth covering his chest. "And you think too loud."  
  
He smiles and presses a quick kiss to white hair, breathing in the smell of lilacs and metal. "Sorry," he whispers.  
  
Ghirahim lifts his head, eying him with sleep-heavy eyes and smacking his lips. He makes a face. "You are not."  
  
Link shakes his head. It's still too quiet, and thunder shakes him to his bones. It reminds him too much of the roar of The Imprisoned, and that reminds him of what a very bad idea this is. With a rustle of fabric, Ghirahimm sits up. Even on their sides, they had hardly fit on the bed together—with Ghirahim's narrow hips taking up most of the bed, Link is forced to scoot all the way back until he bumps into the wall.

 

Ghirahim looks disappointed in him. "You're having doubts again," he accuses, jabbing a finger at Link's face. He swallows once, and sighs. Then he nods.  
  
The demon sighs—a grand, dramatic whoosh of air that echoes around the room. "I don't quite see why. I told you that I would spare your life, did I not?"  
  
Link gives him a dirty look. "A brief refusal to kill one another does not make a relationship," he mutters quietly.  
  
Ghirahim laughs and licks a wet path up his neck. "Not a relationship, perhaps. Sex, however... that we're good at."  
  
They are. Too good at it. It's violent and primal in a way that makes him think of wolves rutting with each other in the deep of the woods—snarling with teeth sunken into the others neck. Some days, he thinks that violence is all he knows anymore. If he'd taken up with Zelda or Peatrice, it wouldn't be like this. He thinks of a home of his own in town, supper with a wife and a child wailing in the background. It's a phantom's daydream. Link has known the wilds of the surface—has stood against the worst of them and come out of it dripping blood, but triumphant. He will never know gentle days in bed, so why not take the demon up on that first offer—fresh out of the Skyview temple, when he was camped out in the woods. Why not?  
  
"You will never back down," Link says, breath stuttering in the dark. "You will always hunt my friends and you will never stop trying to revive your master." Ghirahim bites down on his shoulder and growls, clambering atop Link's hips.  
  
"I will never give up," he admits, rolling his hips down to meet Link's. "I will always be your enemy and when the world ends, you can either be my pet or you can burn with it."  
  
He laughs hotly against Link's ear, and leans down to unfasten his breeches.  
  
It's a terrible idea, of course. One day Ghirahim will greet death under the Master Sword. It's inevitable, because for Link, failure is not an option.  
  
Until then, Link doesn't always have to be the hero. He's allowed to be selfish, because the world isn't ending yet.  
  
And when it does, come what may, he will meet his destiny.  
  
  
**02\. Cyberpunk**  
Electricity crackles and pops through his veins, surging through his body. His entire body screams in agony, and distantly, he notices that everything smells like burnt metal.  
  
When he opens his eyes, Link is smiling down at him.  
  
"What," he says, his voice but a croak, "might you possibly have to gain by bringing a fallen enemy soldier back to life?"  
  
Link shakes his head and wraps him in his arms. Well then.  
  
  
**03\. Gods and Demons and Angels, oh my!**  
"Soft little human," the demon purrs, carding its hands through Link's hair. "My little boy-king, come to save the day."  
  
It leans down to press a kiss to Link's bloodied brow. "My poor little human," it breathes, licking his blood from its lips. "Don't you know not to involve yourself in the affairs of gods?"  
  
Link is dying, and his angel is a smear on the ground.  
  
"Poor little Link. You should have been mine. Now you will never have the chance," it says, something like sadness choking its voice.  
  
Link is dying and his angel is dead, so one of his demons rock him to sleep.

  
**04\. Pirates**  
He is ten when he stops a moon from falling.  
  
At thirteen, he is still wandering Termina, looking for a dear friend.  
  
He is fourteen and rotting away in a Gerudo prison cell, thirst chafing his throat—the sounds of the waves slapping against the hull an utter mockery.  
  
He is fourteen, and someone with white hair and a sharp smile sneaks him a key through the bars. When Link's hand wraps around the key, the man tugs him close, pressing their lips together through the bars. It sends a shiver down his frame, and he chases the wetness of the man's mouth when he tries to retreat. After a moment more, the man pulls back, ghosting a finger over Link's lips and chuckling softly. "I suppose it was destiny that we would meet each other again," he says.  
  
Link cocks his head in confusion, the key cold against his dry palms. "Find me, Link," the man says, slowly inching away from the cell. "Find me and be mine this time."  
  
With a sigh, he vanishes, leaving Link in the dark to wonder why the strange man made him think of the sky stretching open before him.  
  
  
**05\. …In SPACE!!**  
The enemy captain meets him on a planet at the very edge of the solar system, where the worlds will not be damaged should the truce fail. He is a towering, fearsome man with hair the color of flames and skin dark as night. But oddly, Link's attention is drawn to the creature standing just beyond him. Demise's weapon is nothing like Fi—where she is all smooth curves varying shades of blue, Demise's weapon is jagged edges—sharp jutting hipbones and a cool metallic smirk. He is the color of daybreak on a bleak winter's morning, fog on the streets and clouds bloated with snow.  
  
Link falters a bit on the planet's rocky surface, his boots skittering over dozens of small rocks. Rather than falling to the ground just yards from his enemy, Fi steadies him with a soothing touch to his shoulder and a small smile.  
  
Judging by the look in the other man's weapons eyes, he'd noticed.  
  
Demise inclines his head. "You fight valiantly, captain," he says. He gestures behind him. "This is Ghirahim."  
  
In human form, Ghirahim is far from the hulking monstrosity of a ship that Demise uses to conquer planets. As a human, he's closer to the way he looks as a sword or a gun—like he was born to draw blood.  
  
"This is Fi," he says, and smiles. It feels brittle.

  
**06\. Born Another Gender**  
The little girl gleams like sunlight in the darkness of the temple—all golden hair and fierce blue eyes—she wields her sword the way one should. She wields it like an extension of herself, like an object loved and adored. She treats her sword with a respect that any sword would envy. Ghirahim is no exception—in fact, she is jealous of this blade of Evil's Bane that the girl-child has clenched in her dainty little fists. She is angry—so very angry, but she introduces herself, smiling all the while. The other girl has escaped and Ghirahim is furious, but it would perhaps be a bit cathartic to spare some time for this little human. Surely the sight of the little heroine dripping in blood would be enough to whet her appetite.  
  
The girl is scrumptious to be sure, and for a moment, Ghirahim wonders if she's been human for too long. The thirst for blood is still there, but even so, there's something about this child. Something that makes her toes curl at the thought of getting her on her back—cutting her up soft and slow, until she's begging—and out of that nasty tunic. She wants this golden child naked and screaming under her tongue, right here, for the goddesses to see plain as day.  
  
"This turn of events has left me with a strong appetite for bloodshed," she purrs, sliding out of sight and watching the girl narrow her eyes—her stance widening. On silent feet, she creeps closer—setting her chin onto the girls shoulder and _feeling_ her go tense. "Still... it hardly seems fair, being of my position, to take all my anger out on you," she grins, nuzzling into warm skin that smells like sunlight and meadow grass. Her hands skitter up the girl's sides, over ribs and soft flesh until she's cupping one soft breast. The child shivers and Ghirahim strokes a finger over the girl's nipple. Even through cloth, she can feel it harden under her touch and she presses even closer—until she's fully pressed to the other girl's back. She exhales softly against the girls ear and smiles when the girl twitches—her hips stuttering.  
  
"Which is why I promise up front not to murder you," she croons softly, letting her hand drop low over the girl's belly, stroking there for a moment before moving on to the child's breeches—ignoring the girl's gasp and sliding her hand just beneath the waistband so she can scratch her nails through faintly damp curls. She grins and licks a long stripe up the girl's neck, listening to her breathing stutter. "No, I'll just beat you within an inch of your life," she says, curling her other hand around the girl's throat as, too late, she starts to struggle.  
  
Not wanting this to end by accidentally breaking the child's neck, she removes her hand from the child's breeches and spins her around, taking a firm hold of her waist and pulling them flush together again. This close, she can see the flush spreading across the girl's round cheeks—feel the little puffs of breath against her collarbone. "Or," she whispers, hooking a finger into the child's waistband, "you can help me rid myself of this irritating frustration in an utterly different way. What do you say, Hero?"  
  
  
**07\. Schoolfic**  
The Academy is dull. He spends his days sleeping through classes and copying Zelda's notes, bullshitting his essays and getting forced into study sessions with Zelda and Groose so he doesn't flunk out. Things are boring, until the new student-teacher transfers in.  
  
Then things get interesting.

  
**08\. Apocalypse**  
Ghirahim is cold under his hands—cold, biting steel clashing against the Sheikah's spear. When the spears blade shatters, Link grins, and drives the sword through her heart—a sharp clean thrust.  
  
The foolish hero is all that stands before him. He's trembling—red hair dripping sweat into his eyes and Link wants to laugh as his weapon vanishes from his hands and Ghirahim appears behind him, draped over his shoulders. "This is really all the Goddesses have to offer us?" Ghirahim laughs, speaking for Link. "A trembling hero with ridiculous hair and a weak Sheikah?"  
  
Ghirahim presses a biting kiss to the back of his neck and croons with delight when the Hero dives for Impa, drawing her body away from them.  
  
"You were a fool to get in my way, Groose," he finally says, softly, as Ghirahim giggles into his neck.  
  
Groose stares at him, palms red with Impa's blood. "What happened to you, Link?" he asks, yellow eyes narrowed in hatred.  
  
Ghirahim laughs again. "I happened," he purrs and vanishes again, reappearing in Link's hands.  
  
Link raises his sword.  
  
And brings it right back down.  
  
.  
  
The temple trembles all around them and with the Hero's blood staining its floors, Link goes to greet his master.  
  
  
**09\. Urban Fantasy**  
With a sigh, Link threads his fingers through the demons hair and lets it drink deeply. His knees shake and when they finally give way, Ghirahim is there to catch him.  
  
When he finally draws away, licking Link's blood from his fangs, he grins. "I was right, you do taste scrumptious."  
  
  
**10\. Crossover** Avatar:TLA fusion.  
The Earth Kingdom is vast, and Link spends the weeks that they are there with a tight grip on his sword, sneaking Zelda through alleyways and underground tunnels—keeping a stoic eye out for danger as she marvels at the crystals. Groose is scouting ahead and the air beneath the city is stale. He wishes that Zelda would finish her Earthbending training so they could move on. He's sick of hiding.  
  
"My, my, little boy lost," a voice croons from the darkness.  
  
Zelda gasps when the man appears, ducking behind his shoulder. Link knows that she isn't helpless—he's seen her reduce an armada to nothing—just machinery and steel sinking beneath the waves. But here, Link is her protector.  
  
The man is leaning back against the crystals, arms crossed before him. He looks perfectly at ease. But then, he would be. If Link controlled the air around him, he would be that smug too. The man smiles at him. "You have courage, little boy. A non-bender like you, thinking he can protect the Avatar? The Fire Lord could use that kind of courage in a soldier. Just ditch the girl and be our slave. You know it's the smart thing to do."  
  
Link draws his sword and the Fire Lord's weapon grins. "Wrong answer."


End file.
